Chapter Text
When they’ve finished eating, Lan Zhan and the juniors leave to find Shen Mu, and as much as Wei Wuxian is really tempted to go with them, he doesn’t think it’s a good idea for him to bring Xiaolian. She’d gotten bored of the magistrate’s office fairly quickly. The juniors are here to learn, not to babysit, and most of the adults who could watch her still think she’s cursed, and would probably rather take their chances with the fierce corpses. The thought of leaving her in their room, where the innkeeper could toss her out onto the street as she liked, is out of the question.
Besides, Wei Wuxian has his own plans for the day.
He’d seen the lady several times now—by the market, in the inn, and by the magistrate’s office—all in different places, at different times. He wants to know if anyone else has ever seen her, or if she really only appears to Xiaolian, before he starts making any conclusions on what she might want. He prods Xiaolian for a list of places she’d seen the lady before as they walk. Xiaolian, unfortunately, is a baby. So, maybe not the best at giving directions.
Wei Wuxian isn’t sure what the connection is between Xiaolian and the lady yet, but he wants to get a clearer picture of what he’s dealing with. So far the only thing he knows for certain, the one common factor which makes itself very clear, is that the citizens of Jurong City will apparently blame Xiaolian for anything.
“I see her here. And I dropped my shoe,” she says, pointing at the corner that turns off the main road into a residential district. She points again at a spot in the road, where a pothole has been filled in with sand. “And then the ground broke, and I got yelled at.”
“And the lady come, and there was a dog,” she says, as they walk through a prettily landscaped park. Very gravely, after Wei Wuxian’s own heart, she adds, “I don’t like the dog. And then I get yelled at.”
“And there is a cart and it goes really fast,” she tells him, as they cross the main street to head back toward the bridge. “And the lady breaks the wheel. And then—”
“You got yelled at?” Wei Wuxian guesses with a sigh.
Wei Wuxian is pretty sure that she’s been blamed for every single thing that’s ever gone wrong in Jurong City, by the time they finish walking from one neighborhood to the next over.
At least they’re being given a wide berth today. They’re still getting looks, sure, but none of the hostility they’d dealt with yesterday. When Wei Wuxian pauses to purchase a handful of lychee to snack on while they walk back to the inn, the stall owner barely blinks at her, even as she shuffles him through the interaction so quickly that she almost forgets to take his money. He’s not sure what to make of that, exactly. Maybe it’s because Wei Wuxian is here to defend her, and no one wants to pick a fight with him. Maybe word has gotten around that Hanguang Jun has taken an interest in her—certainly his reputation outweighs any prejudices they might be able to manage against a toddler.
Or maybe it’s just that she’s all cleaned up. (It is, apparently, harder for them to justify treating her poorly when she looks like any other little girl. He can see the guilt on their faces, and refuses to avert his eyes).
He doesn’t know, but he’s not complaining. Xiaolian doesn’t even seem to notice, happy to tug him along by the sleeve.
Xiaolian shows him the moss-less patch of railing that had been cleanly broken, even though it is solid stone. She’s very lucky that the break had toppled her onto solid ground, and not spilled her into the river behind them, because apparently she doesn’t know how to swim. Wei Wuxian is just filing that information away for later when he spots a woman up ahead of them, leaning against the railing of the bridge and staring searchingly down into the water rushing below her. She seems vaguely familiar, and he looks more closely to attempt to place her.
It’s the woman he’d seen outside the magistrate’s office, he realizes. She’s no longer crying, but he can see the dark circles under her eyes, the puffy redness in her cheeks that betray her. She doesn’t notice them approaching. Wei Wuxian taps her lightly on the shoulder, and she startles so badly that he has to catch her elbow to steady her.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Wei Wuxian says. “I just wanted to ask you a few questions. I’m not sure if you recognize me.”
She looks at him blankly for a moment, but then her shoulders come up, and the tension from the magistrate’s office is back. “You’re one of those cultivators,” she says. She doesn’t seem particularly happy to see him, but Wei Wuxian can’t really blame her.
“That’s right. We’re here investigating, on request of…” Well, not the magistrate, clearly, he’d been far from pleased to see them, “...the magistrate’s office.” She nods, so Wei Wuxian continues: “I’m very sorry to ask, but I wonder if you know about these... incidents we’re investigating.”
“My sister,” she says, with blunt resignation. “My sister was the second woman they found.”
“I’m sorry,” Wei Wuxian says. He’d figured as much, but to hear her say it with such weary resignation tugs at the pit of his stomach anyway. Before he can stop her, Xiaolian reaches out and pats her hand, gently. The woman looks down, startled, as though she’d only just realized that Wei Wuxian wasn’t alone.
“Who’s this?” she asks, the barest hint of a smile tugging her lips. A bath and new clothes seems to be enough to disguise her, or maybe this woman just isn’t familiar with the rest of the city’s deep superstitions. Emboldened by the woman’s smile, Xiaolian puffs up her chest a little.
“We’re partners!” she says. The woman glances at Wei Wuxian, who nods with theatrical gravity at her declaration. It’s enough to make the tension in her shoulders go out again. She seems to rally, and when she turns her attention back to Wei Wuxian, she’s more open.
“You had questions for me?” she asks.
“Can you start by telling me what happened?” he asks. They’ve heard the magistrate’s account already, but it’s good to hear it in her words.
“My sister didn’t come home. This was… four nights ago now. And they…” She glances down at Xiaolian, who’s watching her with wide-eyed interest. “She was in the alley,” she says.
“In the city?” Wei Wuxian asks.
“Near the east gate, but yes, in the city,” she says. Wei Wuxian hums thoughtfully. It’s strange that there were no witnesses, if she was found within the city walls. He thinks of the fog that had rolled in that first night, of the strange calm that had rolled over the streets, and how even Lan Zhan had not seen the corpse that had come close enough for Wei Wuxian to smell it’s rotting flesh mere moments before his arrival.
“Do you know what happened?” Wei Wuxian asks. This may be a bit much for her, but he needs to know. The woman pauses, but shakes her head.
“That cultivator wasn’t very helpful,” she says. “Once I’d… identified my sister, he left rather quickly.”
“And what did the magistrate say?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I haven’t spoken to him,” she says.
That surprises him. He tilts his head and asks, “You didn’t speak to him today?”
“No, I was… inquiring about a payment plan,” she says, her voice getting slightly quieter as she trails off. She looks somewhat embarrassed to admit it, but Wei Wuxian is only confused.
“Payment for what?” he asks.
“For the burial,” she says, now taking her turn to look confused.
“You need a payment plan for that?” he asks. He’s not judging. He can understand the urge, can understand why one might want something extravagant for a loved one, but still, to spend so much that a payment plan was necessary seemed unwise.
“Ah, young master, you misunderstand. That’s just how things are done here,” she says. “The magistrate’s office handles all burials. The cultivator he hired… it’s to prevent these sorts of things from happening, to keep things well regulated. The administrative fees are… quite steep. It is illegal, here, to bury your own dead.”
A creeping dread settles into the pit of Wei Wuxian’s stomach. Xiaolian senses his unease, reached up to clutch the bottom of his robe nervously, with her other hand hugging the handle of her wooden sword to her chest.
“And if you can’t afford it? These administrative fees?” Wei Wuxian asks.
“There are payment plans,” she says nervously, but Wei Wuxian stops her with a hand on her wrist.
“And what are you to do, if you simply can’t afford it?” he asks seriously. She looks at him for a moment, her indecision poised dangerously on a sharp edge, and then she casts her eyes away.
In the smallest voice, she begins: “Young master, of course I would never consider it,” she says, quickly, like she can hardly catch her breath on the words. “Because it is illegal, and I don’t want any trouble. But… I have heard that those who know they cannot afford a proper burial will carry one out in secret, with the hope that they will not… realize the person has died, and come looking for the body.”
Wei Wuxian feels sick. He can see, even, how the offer seems so honest and sensible, to have a trained cultivator overseeing the burial of the dead. Of course, for a city this size, resentful energy unchecked can wreak havoc, of course a fearful community would agree to such a sensible thought, and perhaps even think themselves better off for it. Of course, the people who would be harmed by something as ridiculous as charging huge fees simply for the right to be buried are the same people who would struggle to stand up against the policy.
If people are hiding their dead, burying them in secret in the hopes that they will not be found out, that their graves will not be discovered, Wei Wuxian can only imagine the consequences. Surely they’ll try to honor them, but how many of these unmarked graves go neglected and forgotten, while their loved ones cower in fear of being discovered, fined, maybe arrested—
“In any case, it’s not an option for me,” she says. “They know my sister is dead. They would notice, if she was buried without their oversight.”
“Have you paid for her burial yet?” Wei Wuxian asks. She shakes her head. “Don’t. Not until we’re finished with our investigation.”
Wei Wuxian turns and leads Xiaolian away by the hand. The woman watches him go, frozen at the bridge rail. She’s still there when he glances back as they round the bend toward the city gates.
“Where are we going?” Xiaolian asks. Her short legs can hardly keep up with him, so he scoops her into his arms. She lets him without protest, smart enough to realize the gravity of their conversation, even if she can’t possibly understand the implications behind the woman’s words.
“We need to find Lan Zhan,” he says.
He has only a vague idea of where the graveyard is, but he knows that Lan Zhan was planning to meet Shen Mu at the east gate, so he starts there. The road is empty. They’d been walking around the city for the better part of the afternoon, so he’s not surprised to see that there are very few people near the city outskirts. He doubts they would want to be out here after dark, with the rumors about the recent murders flying.
Wei Wuxian follows a trade road from the city gates with Xiaolian on his hip. She doesn’t complain as he carries her, tired out from all the walking, but she watches the scenery with keen interest. It might be her first time out of the city, or at least the first she remembers.
When he sees the marker for the graveyard up ahead on the path, he quickens his steps. The fog rolls over him so quickly that Wei Wuxian hardly notices it coming. He stops in his tracks, the quiet crunch of his boots on the gravel muffled, the birdsong in the trees now silent.
“Uh oh,” Xiaolian says, and it’s so out of place in the sudden quiet that it startles him into a laugh. She pats his sleeve. “I don’t look?”
“I’ll warn you,” he promises. “We’re gonna be fine, though. You’re safe with me, you know that?”
He waits for her to nod, and then shifts her more securely on his side, so that she can wrap her arms around his neck, so that she won’t fall if he suddenly needs his hands. He stands for a moment straining to listen, waiting for something else to emerge, but the path is still and unmarred by shadows in the pure white fog.
It feels wrong though, how quickly the weather turned. He takes a few, tentative steps back, beyond the perimeter of the graveyard.
The fog recedes again.
Well, that’s definitely not natural.
He steps cautiously forward again and lets the fog roll in around them. It’s limited to the area, but still reacting to his presence somehow. They move up the road cautiously, with Wei Wuxian stretching his senses as well as he can through the muffling fog, and Xiaolian clinging tightly to his robe.
So dampened by the fog, he almost misses the little curious tug of spiritual energy at the back of the stone marker at the edge of the graveyard. If he’d walked only a few steps to the left side of the path, if he hadn’t already been suspicious of the unnatural fog, he would have missed it. He follows the source, squints through the fog at the blurry shape of what appears to be a small talisman affixed behind the base of the stone.
Wei Wuxian rips the talisman down, and the fog recedes just a little, pulling tighter to the graveyard. It’s some kind of array, anchored at the borders with these talismans. He studies the writing on the talisman. The spell itself seems familiar, a sort of modified maze array, but it’s not a perfect replica, where a few added strokes have changed the meaning slightly.
“Lan Zhan?” he calls. There’s no response.
He’s not sure how large the graveyard is, but for a place of Jurong City’s size, it must stretch quite a ways to account for the demand for space, even if the plots are shared. There must be a system for burials, ranging from newer to older plots, but Wei Wuxian hadn’t thought to ask.
Unease prickles at the back of his neck, but he can’t tell whether there’s really something watching him, or if he just doesn’t like how dampened everything feels in this fog. He can’t sense anything resentful in the immediate area, at least, but it’s not very reassuring, with how close he’d needed to get to stumble across this talisman.
How’s he supposed to find anything in this fog? He’s going to have to search the whole thing bit by bit, unless Lan Zhan or the corpses they’re looking for are polite enough to come find him. Although, actually… Lan Zhan had heard his dizi, before.
Wei Wuxian pulls Chenqing from his belt, tips it against his lips, and tries not to smile at how Xiaolian’s knees poke into him as she tilts her head back to watch him play. He doesn’t put any spiritual power into the first note, just playing a few bars of their song, just to see if he gets an answer. The crushing, muffled blanket of the fog doesn’t lift, though, and no one calls back to him.
“All right,” Wei Wuxian says, to Xiaolian, and to himself. “Let’s see what we find.”
He’d shifted into playing spiritual music ten minutes ago. He’d found a few more talismans to rip down, but still no sign of Lan Zhan. Even though he’s actively searching—not even for the corpses, just for any hint that they’re not wandering blind around an abandoned graveyard—he still almost walks right past them.
He hears a girl’s voice say, shut up for a second, idiot. Did you hear that? and then a few long seconds of nothing before, you are not funny. Quit trying to scare—
Wei Wuxian slaps a hand over Lan Xue’s mouth before he can shout too loudly in surprise, muffling the immediate Senior Wei, it’s you, thank god behind his palm. Lan Jie looks just as startled, clearly not expecting anyone to be able to sneak up so closely without their noticing, but she, at least, is too stubborn to scream.
“Did you—” Lan Jie blurts out. “Did you bring the baby?”
“I’m not a—”
“What, and leave my partner behind?” Wei Wuxian says. “Where’s Lan Zhan?” he asks. Lan Jie and Lan Xue glance at each other. Neither knows.
“We were separated in the fog,” Lan Jie says. “It came out of nowhere while we were surveying the burial sites.”
Wei Wuxian hums. “Not until you reached the graves?” he asks. She shakes her head.
Interesting, Wei Wuxian thinks. He’d thought at first that the flags were limiting the maze array to one location, but if it hadn’t triggered until they’d arrived, then something else was triggering the fog.
“Uh oh,” Xiaolian says again.
Wei Wuxian whirls on his heel, turning to follow Xiaolian’s gaze. It takes him only a moment to spot them, three shadows looming ahead in the fog. Next to him, the juniors go very quiet.
Uh oh pretty much sums it up. Xiaolian actually tries to draw her little wooden sword, which would be hilarious, but nope, not happening. He snatches her hand instead and draws the children back the way they’ve come. An uneasy feeling settles in his gut.
They don’t attack. It’s odd. Wei Wuxian has never known a fierce corpse that wasn’t Wen Ning to be tactical, or patient, but these ones don’t just stumble forward blindly like he would expect. They seem, almost, like they don’t notice they’re here, or maybe like something is holding them back...
“Senior Wei?” Lan Jie whispers, uncertain. “Why aren’t they attacking us?”
“I’m… not sure,” Wei Wuxian says.
“Maybe they don’t see us,” Lan Xue suggests.
Wei Wuxian pulls the bunched up talismans out of his pocket, considers them for a moment.
“I think the fog is hiding them,” he says. He holds the talismans out, so they can both get a good look. “Or hiding us. First, we’re going to take care of those corpses, and then I need you two to find the rest of these and destroy them.”
They both nod, and then stare at him expectantly, until—
“What, you want me to do it for you? I’m holding a baby. Who’s the student here?” he asks, and then nods to Xiaolian. “If you can’t handle a couple corpses, by all means, you can hold her and I’ll—”
The juniors startle out of their hiding spot before he can finish the threat. It ruins their surprise attack, a little, but they’re Lans. And they have the best teacher in the world. Wei Wuxian watches as they take care of the corpses without so much as a splash of blood on their white robes. They didn’t really need the advantage. He presses one crumpled talisman into each of their hands as an example of what to look for and sends them off into the fog together.
In the end, it’s Lan Zhan who finds him.
They’re walking through the muffled quiet, Xiaolian’s face pressed tight against his shoulder. He hasn’t told her to close her eyes, but she’s still clutching him very tightly. He’s already regretting bringing her here, regretting not handing her off to Lan Xue when he had the chance, sending them both out of the fog and back to the city, when the faint mildew scent of rotting moss and grave dirt suddenly becomes far less faint, and far less pleasant.
He has a moment, when the corpse looms up out of the fog, when he flinches away from milky eyes that are far too close, to turn his body away, at least, and spare Xiaolian. He plunges his hand into his sleeve, fingers already grasping for a talisman, and he braces himself for the pain, because he’s too close, so that it doesn’t blind him—
Metal sings through the air beside his shoulder, and it’s good that Xiaolian has decided not to look. Something wet thuds against the ground, and rolls into his ankle. Wei Wuxian steps over it, before Xiaolian can get curious enough to steal a peek.
“Wei Ying, are you all right?” Lan Zhan asks. His hand is not gentle, when he cups Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. He leans into it, reassuring.
If he squints into the fog, he can just make out the rough shapes of the other juniors. They dart in and out of view, but it’s like watching shadows cast through rice paper, almost disturbing in the lack of sound or any sense they’re there.
That is, until a form stumbles gracelessly nearer. Then, Wei Wuxian can make out just the form of Shen Mu, who looks like he’s been haggardly chasing after Lan Zhan, and scowls when he sees them together.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” he says, ignoring the man. “I came looking for you. This place should be crawling with corpses—”
“No one needed you to tell us that,” Shen Mu says. “What business do you have, bringing a child with you?” Wei Wuxian bristles, not least of all because he thinks he knows what’s happening here, and Shen Mu is in no position to criticize him. Lan Zhan bristles, too, but just because he’s loyal like that.
“Bold of you to say,” Wei Wuxian says, and throws the crumpled wad of talismans at his feet. If he’d only been suspicious before, the look on the man’s face all but confirms it. “Even the juniors could handle a few fierce corpses, if you hadn’t gone and complicated everything.”
Lan Zhan glances down at the talismans, up at Wei Wuxian’s fierce expression.
“I will take Xiaolian, if you need to use Chenqing,” he offers immediately, no explanation necessary. Xiaolian peeks over at him at her name, but she’s still got a vice grip on Wei Wuxian’s robes. It doesn’t matter, because—
“I can’t do anything about the fog from here,” he says. Wei Wuxian pulls Chenqing from his belt, and then settles onto the ground, with Xiaolian in his lap. Lan Zhan immediately steps up beside him, Bichen drawn. “I’ve already sent Lan Xue and Lan Jie to clear the fog. We just need to hold them until then.”
When he plays, it’s a muted shadow of his usual power. He can barely feel through the thick fog that hides them, that hides the corpses from them, and every note is like trying to cut through silk with a dull knife.
Lan Zhan dances around him, sliding in and out of view. There are more corpses than Wei Wuxian expected, and he wonders bitterly how long this has been going on. Shen Mu has melted back into the fog, but that’s for the best anyway, because Wei Wuxian can hardly be distracted by him. Anger and frustration are useful fuel, but not for this.
One moment, they’re fighting in dense, dampening fog, and then next a rush of wind sweeps the graveyard clear. Well tended stones poke out of the ground, the grass chirps with disturbed crickets, and all at once the rush of rot wafts over them, no longer blocked by anything. Lan Jie and Lan Xue must have found the rest of the talismans.
“Eyes closed,” Wei Wuxian says quietly.
It’s good, and it’s not. The fog clears and suddenly the corpses they were fighting one-on-one all swing their gazes around to stare at them. The juniors tense, and Lan Zhan rests his hand back on the strings of his guqin, as suddenly there’s nothing keeping the corpses from attacking.
But on the other hand…
Wei Wuxian lifts Chenqing to his lips, and there’s nothing dampening the call when he plays. He can feel the seductive urge to grab and twist and control, to really tap into that resentful energy. It’s an old craving, a weakness he’s shaken a hundred times, and that he’ll have to shake a hundred more.
Instead, he only reaches out with a light touch, just enough to hold the corpses still, security not control, and then lets he the junior’s swords do the work.
Shen Mu flicks his sleeves out, looking very satisfied with himself, even though he just tied with the fourteen year old for the number of corpses he’d handled during the fight. He must see something in Wei Wuxian’s expression, because he suddenly looks much less satisfied.
“What?” he asks, back to being defensive. Wei Wuxian kind of doesn’t even want to look at him, so he turns to Lan Zhan instead. Lan Zhan, who puts a hand on his shoulder, smoothing the fabric where it’s gotten bunched up, clearly searching for injuries even though Wei Wuxian didn’t even enter the fight. He feels his annoyance uncurl, just a little.
“They’ve been charging people for the right to bury their dead,” Wei Wuxian says.
The resentment, having gone unchecked, had festered as the bodies rotted in their unmarked graves. The arrays might have worked to obscure the truth of what Shen Mu’s burial policy had done, but they were not powerful enough to keep the corpses from finding the city, breaking past their weakened wards and roaming the streets in a shroud of unnatural fog.
“It prevents improper—” Shen Mu tries to say, but Wei Wuxian doesn’t want to hear it.
“It lines your pockets,” he interrupts. “Don’t pretend it’s for any other reason. I’m guessing you’ve known about the fierce corpses for some time.”
“I...yes,” he said. He hurried to continue, “I had noticed that an abnormal number had been reported. Of course, I tried to find the source. But this is hardly my fault.”
“You didn’t just know about them. You’ve actively tried to hide their presence,” Wei Wuxian said.
“I’ve—no! It’s not like that,” he says desperately. “And that aside—there would be no corpses if only—”
“You cannot blame them, when it was their loved ones dying, and your boot on their necks,” Wei Wuxian snaps. He’s startled by his own anger, but when he glances quickly at Xiaolian, she doesn’t seem bothered by his outburst at all. He tamps down his rage, anyway, and continues, “It’s not their job to prevent fierce corpses. It’s yours.”
Shen Mu looks decidedly uncomfortable, and not nearly ashamed enough.
“I realized the source of the corpses recently,” he says. “And I was handling it. But I thought—there were so many, and to go about hunting down every unmarked grave to lay them to rest properly was hardly efficient.”
“Efficient,” Lan Zhan says. Wei Wuxian can see the disgust on his face, but to Shen Mu, his expression only makes him nod warily.
“I thought, perhaps, there was another way…” he says.
He’s been experimenting with these arrays around the city, the graveyard, in an attempt to keep the fierce corpses out of Jurong City. It hadn’t been a terrible idea, only sloppily done, which might offend him even more. Wei Wuxian can tell what the intention had been—to hide the city from the corpses, and bar their entry to protect their citizens from any attack. Wei Wuxian is certain the talismans were meant to keep the city out of the corpse’s view, even as their numbers grew, and with it their resentment.
Nevermind the travellers outside the city, or the people too poor to live within its walls. Nevermind that the talismans themselves had been flawed, only hiding the corpses but barring nothing, making them even more lost and erratic in their undead wanderings.
Shen Mu must have realized what this new policy was doing. Things could have ended there, if he had reached out to any of the major sects for support. But for him to admit that their policy had done the exact opposite of what they’d claimed it would was too much, either out of greed or his pride. It’s this cowardice that Wei Wuxian can’t stand.
“You’ll answer to the magistrate,” Lan Zhan says, “for the two women who died due to your negligence. For your negligence as a cultivator, you will answer to Gusu Lan.”
They return to the magistrate’s office.
The magistrate is his own problem. It’s not illegal to charge municipal fees. It’s not illegal to be bad at your job, either, and Wei Wuxian thinks this is probably the case more than anything, that the magistrate was too new and uncertain in his position to see that what this cultivator-for-hire was doing under his nose was wrong. It’s not illegal, but Wei Wuxian still can’t bring himself to like the man, much.
They set the juniors to interviewing the citizens, searching for people who may know of more unmarked graves in need of tending. It’ll be quite an undertaking, searching a city this size, and will certainly require sending several cultivators dedicated to the task from Gusu, but the juniors can get a start on it at the very least. The first hurdle is getting the people to trust that there will be no punishment for revealing their hidden burials. Wei Wuxian feels it’s a good fit, considering the juniors are far from threatening figures. He’s sure they’ll do better than the magistrate’s office could at getting the word out that the punishments for illegal burials have been revoked.
Finally, when they’ve finished explaining what they’ve found and set the juniors to their tasks, he turns to the magistrate.
“There’s one more thing,” Wei Wuxian says.
The magistrate takes several minutes to search for Wei Wuxian’s request, but finally he directs them to the north of the city. He and Lan Zhan take Xiaolian, leaving the juniors to their task as the afternoon fades.
The burnt out shell of the house still stands, but only barely. Xiaolian looks curious, but if she recognizes her first home, or any traces of her grandmother that may remain, it doesn’t show on her face. They tread over the crumbled outlines of where the walls had once stood. The ground is flush with weeds, born from the ashy soil, sprouting from cracks in the blackened remains of the rafters where they lay half-buried like teeth among the crumbling detritus on the floor. They walk the perimeter and feel nothing, no darkness or resentful energy, only a queer and desperate stillness.
A spirit comes when Lan Zhan plays Inquiry. It is Xiaolian’s grandmother, and she seems to recognize her. Wei Wuxian can tell from the merry way she plucks the strings. Xiaolian is fascinated by the way the guqin plays on its own, even more so when Lan Zhan tells her that the music is its own language. Wei Wuxian has gotten better at understanding over the years, though he is still far from an expert like Lan Zhan. He no longer needs Lan Zhan to translate for him, at least, so he listens patiently as he plays.
Where is your daughter, Lan Zhan asks, and Xiaolian’s grandmother is quiet for a long time as the words settle before there is finally, finally, a soft and tentative reply.
Lan Zhan thanks her, and bids her to rest.
They follow her directions, out to the forest, leaving the blackened remains of the home behind them. The route is winding and dense. It is a good place to go, to not be found. Lan Zhan stoops to pick Xiaolian up when the path gets too tricky for her to walk on her own. Wei Wuxian imagines this route would be difficult for an old woman, especially with a baby in tow.
When they find the clearing her grandmother had described, the lady is already waiting for them. They see her more clearly now for what she is, a young woman dressed in practical robes, her hair loose around her face. She watches them warily as they approach.
“Explain it to me,” Wei Wuxian says. He has his own suspicions, but he wants to hear it from her. Xiaolian deserves this. She will want to know when she’s older, if he can give it to her—the whole story of how things came to be.
She closes her eyes as though pained, and Wei Wuxian closes his eyes with her.
There is a pit in the ground. It may be too shallow, but digging is difficult work for anyone, let alone a frail old woman, a woman who is burdened with a much heavier weight than the earth that she turns. She has counted the money in her purse a hundred times, but she knows it’s not enough. She is a woman who had thought her years of mothering were long behind her, who rocks a squalling baby as she cries. She stacks stones over the too shallow grave to brace it against the weather and prays.
When someone asks after her daughter three weeks later, she lies, and tells them she’s run off, and the words are like ash on her tongue.
There is a blizzard rolling in, and a spirit waiting in the darkness. The storm has been building all evening, and the winds are so cold and so fierce that they cut through the trees, the stones, the ground. There is but a memory of a child in her arms. She is a warm, small thing, and the spirit grasps against the wind as though to catch the ghost of her.
The ground is so slick with ice that the walk from the house to the gravesite is treacherous, and several weeks have passed since her mother has come to visit. The cutting wind chills something deeper than flesh, and before she can think better of it, she finds herself drifting down that narrow path towards home.
The fire in the hearth has burnt to guttering coals, the barest glow beneath a pile of charcoal and ash. It’s so cold. She touches her mother’s cheek and feels the icy stillness of it. She touches her daughter’s and feels its warmth, nestled beneath the blankets in her crib.
The kindling by the hearth glides through her fingers like water. She clutches at them desperately, with a single minded determination. Her thoughts are cloudy, distant things, so she knows she must do this, but from one moment to the next she forgets why, remembers, forgets. Her frustration flares and the ashes in the hearth scatter, the smouldering coals go flying. She watches them catch against the wooden floor, the drapes, the blanket of the crib, and she understands that this is wrong, but her thoughts are slippery, and all she knows to do is wrap her arms around her child and hold on, hold on.
Xiaolian didn’t know her, of course she couldn’t recognize her, this woman who had died as she was born, this lady following her and watching her, this mother who fed her and bathed her and peeled oranges for her, who doesn’t know her own strength, and sometimes forgets herself, but never, never forgets her child.
“I understand,” Wei Wuxian says, because he can feel how desperately she needs him to understand her. “Of course, I understand.”
What mother wouldn’t want to look after her child? How could she not, with the way she was treated? She didn’t mean to hurt anyone, least of all her own daughter. She’d only done what she could.
Xiaolian watches quietly as her mother’s spirit approaches, her cheek pressed against Lan Zhan’s shoulder. Her mother reaches out so tentatively, like she fears desperately what might happen if they touch. Lan Zhan nods, and she brushes the back of her knuckles over Xiaolian’s cheek with such a gentle tenderness that Xiaolian blinks back tears. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure she understands who she is, but she’s not afraid of her even as her spirit begins to lose its shape.
“We will keep her safe,” Lan Zhan tells the spirit. She nods, her mouth a thin line, the barest quiver shaking her frame.
Wei Wuxian knows that there is no easy way to say goodbye, nothing more painful than the thought of leaving your child alone. She looks at him like she understands him, like she feels the thought as deeply in her chest as he does. She closes her eyes and goes in stages, like the fingers of a clenched fist uncurling, letting go. Xiaolian watches her go and then looks to Wei Wuxian, to Lan Zhan, her lip quivering like she’s waiting to see how they’ll react.
Lan Zhan sets her down on her own two feet then. He crouches down, so they’re closer to eye level. His expression is gentle, and she fidgets nervously as she waits to hear what he wants to say.
“Xiaolian,” Lan Zhan says. “Would you like to come live with us?”
“At your house?” she asks. She seems surprised, but that suspicious wariness has faded some. She glances tentatively between him and Wei Wuxian. He goes to crouch beside them too, reaches out to offer her his hand. She holds it without hesitation, her tiny fingers curling around his own.
“Mn,” Lan Zhan says. “In Cloud Recesses.”
She’s thoughtful for a moment. “Is the lady coming?” she asks.
“No,” Wei Wuxian says. He’s not sure she’d really understand if he tried to explain to her. She’s too young, maybe. Someday when she’s older, they’ll tell her everything, who the lady was to her, and what her mother had been trying to do. “The lady had to go. She just wanted to make sure you would be all right, first.”
“She’s not coming back,” she says. She sounds a little hopeful, and a little sad.
“No,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “It’s time for her to rest.”
Xiaolian, for her part, doesn’t seem particularly nervous of the change, even if the city was all she’d ever really known. Still, Wei Wuxian and Lan Zhan had taken the previous evening to prepare her for what to expect. Lan Zhan, in his infinite patience, had answered every one of her ceaseless questions about Cloud Recessess in great and excruciating detail. Wei Wuxian mostly listened and made sure Lan Zhan didn't leave out the important parts.
Wei Wuxian is positive that he’d mentioned that the rest of the juniors all live in Cloud Recesses, too, and know very well already what it’s like there, but that isn’t stopping Xiaolian from giving them an extremely detailed description of her soon-to-be home.
“And there’s water, so I can swim, but it’s cold,” Xiaolian tells her captive audience of Lan disciples. Now that they’re packing to leave, her energy has ratcheted up into babbling excitement. “And I’m not allowed to run, and I’m not allowed to yell,” she says, with a certain air of dubious concern, like she’s not quite sure how they plan to stop her.
The juniors nod and hum at all the right moments, like she is relaying new and thrilling information to them. “There’s bunnies. They’re soft, and gentle. I’ve never pet a bunny, but I ate one, and it was good,” she says, which makes Lan Jie choke on a laugh. Xiaolian grins and takes this as encouragement to begin explaining the details of the Lan diet, which is very clearly biased by Wei Wuxian’s influence. After a moment inspiration seems to strike her, and she glances around to see if the adults are listening.
“And I get a real sword, like Hanguang Jun,” she says seriously, with a carefully innocent expression on her face.
“Oh? Do you?” Lan Xue asks.
She hesitates, and then quickly insists, “Well, I do when I’m big, maybe. That’s true,” and then continues like she hasn’t only just remembered there’s a rule against lying, too.
It’s a little late for breakfast by the time they’re all packed and ready, but they have a long day ahead of them, and Xiaolian isn’t the only one who gets cranky when she’s hungry, so once the juniors have gathered in the hall, Lan Zhan orders them all downstairs to eat.
“I like dumplings,” Xiaolian says, as she is ushered toward the stairs. “With meat! If you don’t like meat, I will eat it.”
Wei Wuxian grabs Lan Zhan before he can take a single step out the door, fingers twisted in the shoulder of his robe, and drags him back over. He peeks out the door just long enough to catch sight of the last junior disappearing down the stairs with Xiaolian’s little hand wrapped around theirs, and then he slams the door shut with his free hand.
“So, we could get breakfast,” Wei Wuxian says. He lets go of Lan Zhan’s robes, slides his hand up to curl around the back of his neck. “Or—”
Lan Zhan’s fingers dig into his thighs, and Wei Wuxian huffs a breathless laugh into his neck when his feet leave the floor entirely. Lan Zhan carries him over to the bed like it’s effortless, like the weight of Wei Wuxian’s lips against his pulse is a hundred times heavier than the body in his arms.
It’s been over a week. He should throw him onto the bed, tear his clothes off, but he just crawls onto the mattress without ever letting go, like he’s something precious and worth holding on to.
“We’ve probably got, like, fifteen minutes, before someone wonders where we are,” Wei Wuxian says. When he tilts his head up to kiss him, it is gentle and much, much too slow. “So, you know,” he adds, and helpfully arranges Lan Zhan’s hands on his robes. “Gotta hurry.”
“Hm,” Lan Zhan says, a thoughtful hand on Wei Wuxian’s belt. Then he yanks the whole thing out in one pull, tossing the fabric behind him. “Thirty minutes.”